


Like it's the last night of our lives

by morganya



Category: Die Young - Ke$ha (Song)
Genre: Dancing, F/F, London, M/M, Pilots, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-30 03:29:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14487864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganya/pseuds/morganya
Summary: Walter and John have a night out in London before they fly into battle.





	Like it's the last night of our lives

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FleetSparrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FleetSparrow/gifts).



Jack had taken a room at Mrs. Stephenson's boarding house for the majority of the one-week leave, while Walter went up to Burnley to visit his family and then came back to London. Jack had persuaded Mrs. Stephenson to let Walter stay with him until they had to report back to Gravesend. He dressed up smart in his RAF uniform and called her good lady while sliding over a five-pound note, and under the onslaught of posh military enticement, Mrs. Stephenson bent the rules.

They were expected to report back to base on Monday. They would fly into battle on Tuesday.

At Saturday breakfast, Jack clapped Walter on the back and announced to the table at large, "Tonight I'm taking my good Northern chum out to experience the wonders of London."

"I'd rather have a pint," Walter said. It was an old game between them, one they played mostly to amuse themselves, with Jack acting the pompous sophisticate and Walter as the dour stick in the mud. No one else at the table paid them any regard, though Mrs. Stephenson gave a perfunctory laugh as she was passing out the toast.

"Enjoying your freedom?" Cunningham, the tramp from down the hall, asked. "Right before the big push, me and the rest of the lads in the regiment went into Amiens and got drunk as lords. Hell of a party. Afterwards, of course, no one felt like celebrating."

"I suppose not," Jack said, and took a sip of his tea. They didn't speak for the rest of the meal.

Walter had an early bath, maneuvering carefully around the tiny room that smelt heavily of damp. Mrs. Stephenson had hung a sign on the door warning residents of the limitations of one hot bath a week. It was the last hot bath Walter might have for a bit, so he made sure to savor it, pressing his shoulders against the porcelain and letting water stream down his chest, judiciously using Jack's Imperial Leather and breathing in the deep, wild scent.

Someone knocked on the door. "Still in there, Walt?"

"I am, aye. Almost done."

"Leave the water in for us, yeah? Let me know when you're done."

Just a minute." Walter got out of the bath and wrapped his towel around his waist. He wiped the steam off the mirror and said, "All right then."

Jack came in and shut the door behind him. He took his shirt off and said, "You smell nice."

"Thanks." Walter watched the muscles in Jack's shoulders move as he undid his flies. He was broad and golden and all angles. He lowered himself into the bath and said, "I think I can get at least ten minutes until it goes cold. This soap's holding up well, isn't it?"

"You'd think it would have given up the ghost by now," Walter said. He shaved and combed pomade through his hair as Jack hummed absently behind him, water splashing.

Afterwards, they went to the Trocadero for the early picture. Jack pointed out some of the shops on the New Kent Road that he used to go to on family days out. There were kids playing conkers in the shadow of one of the bombed out buildings.

At the theatre, Jack bought a bag of popcorn for them to share. He said to Walter, "Something to drink, Wilson?" but Walter was too hypnotized by the tiny gilded lobby to answer.

The spell continued as they walked into the theatre and everything was rose and gold and chocolate. Eagles spread their wings on the walls. Jack laughed low in his throat and said, "You'd think you'd never been out before," but Walter knew he was pleased.

Walter barely paid attention to the picture. The organist at the front of the theatre played mournfully and a girl in a red uniform walked the dark aisles with sweets and ice creams. His hand was draped over Jack's wrist, not holding, so that if they were spotted he could say that he was just reaching for the popcorn. Jack's pulse beat time against his.

They left before God Save the Queen because Jack wanted to catch the train to Piccadilly. He promised Walter, "This is the best dance hall you'll ever see."

"I don't dance," Walter said.

Jack laughed. "I said see, not dance, didn't I? Nothing wrong with watching."

Hatchett's was down a ways from Piccadilly Circus, hidden behind an unassuming brown door. The inside smelt of perfume and sweat and laundry starch. The band played Flying Home as Jack and Walter squeezed themselves into the fray to find a place against the wall. A man on the dance floor swung his partner over his shoulders in a frenzied jitterbug, and her skirt flapped and showed her garters.

"I'm not sure," Walter shouted in Jack's ear.

Jack threw a mischievous look over his shoulder. "Give it time."

They managed to find some space against the wall. Jack settled and leaned his head back contentedly. The man on the floor was still swinging his partner. His eyes were unfocused and frantic.

"My nan would call them possessed," Walter said.

"It's a fine time to be possessed," Jack said. "Why don't you go have a bit of a dance?"

"I don't dance."

"Try to enjoy yourself for once in your life."

"I'm not going to enjoy myself throwing a lass all around the floor. Why don't you have a dance?"

Jack blinked innocently at him. "Because I like watching _you_ do it."

"Oh, for God's sake," Walter said, but pocketed Jack's cigarettes. "I'll wait for a slow song."

"Well done."

Walter wished they had gone to the pub beforehand. The music turned to waltz.

There were two girls across the room from him, more grave-looking than the others around them. The taller girl had her hand on the wall and was leaning on it in a way that would have been cocky in a man. The shorter girl was listening intently to her friend's conversation, with a half-smile on her painted lips.

Walter took a deep breath and made his way across the floor. He moved to where they were standing and waited until the shorter girl gave him a curious look.

"Would you like a cigarette?" It came out rushed and tight, his throat closing around the words. The shorter girl looked rather like she wanted to laugh, but she glanced at her friend instead.

The tall girl had sharp dark eyes that sized him up quickly. "Pilot?" she asked.

He nodded idiotically. "Ah," she said. "This your first time out in the world then?"

"Evie," her friend scolded. To Walter she said, "My name's Dorothy. Just so you know, I'm not much of a dancer."

As soon as they were on the dance floor, Walter forgot what to do with his feet. He was sure he'd danced before, with an aunt at a wedding or something, but everything had vanished. He held Dorothy stiffly at arms' length, and he stepped on her feet a few times, and he knew that afterwards he would stomp back to Jack and give him an earful. Except she kept looking at him with a half-distracted, half-amused smile, and when the music stopped she said, "Shall I fetch Evie and we'll have a rest for a minute?"

"I'm here with my mate."

"Better still," she said.

Evie – "Evelyn," she informed Walter coolly – gave Dorothy an odd look when she suggested having a chat but went willingly enough. Jack waved as they approached and made room for them all with his enormous shoulders.

"Told you it'd be fine, didn't I, Wilson?" he said and gave the two women his most charming smile. "John Taylor. Pleasure to meet you."

"I nearly injured Dorothy," Walter informed him.

"It was fine," Dorothy said.

"She was just doing her bit for crown and country, weren't you, Dorothy?" Evelyn said.

"Everyone gets a bit bruised now and again," Walter said.

Dorothy gave Evelyn a look. "It was fine," she repeated.

Walter was blushing, which irritated him. "I know that –"

"Oh, don't worry yourself, Walt," Jack said. "You're fine. You were marvelous."

Dorothy and Evelyn had another one of their silent conversations. Evelyn said, "Are you two on leave?"

"Until Monday," Jack said.

"And after that?"

Jack looked at Walter. Walter shrugged. Jack said, "Well, that's not up to us, is it?"

"I suppose not," Evelyn said.

"Evie," Dorothy prompted.

Evelyn said, in her gruff way, "Well, if you've only got 'til Monday, you should hear some decent music. My place's not far away, if you'd like to have a drink and hear some records."

"She has a wonderful collection," Dorothy said, and Evelyn smiled fondly at her.

Walter looked at Jack. Jack tilted his head, assessing the situation. Walter didn't think they were being propositioned, but admittedly his experience was low.

Jack seemed just as puzzled. "Can you have our sort in your flat?"

"You mean, men?"

"No, RAF," Jack said, and looked pleased when Evelyn laughed shortly. "The landlady knows what we're like," she said. "You'll be fine."

Evelyn had a room near the munitions factory where she worked. Despite the reassurance, Walter was sure they'd walk in to find a stern Victorian matron at the head of the stairs demanding to know what exactly they were doing, but instead Evelyn let herself in the front door and took them up to her room. A woman was singing The Last Rose of Summer down the hall, and Evelyn and Dorothy looked at each other.

"She's been in the sherry again," Evelyn said. "She won't remember anything tomorrow."

Evelyn's room was small and neat, with an iron bed and a makeshift sitting area with a Victrola. Evelyn, more relaxed now, invited them to sit. "Could you find some glasses, Dot? I'm sorry I haven't anything stronger than my granny's blackcurrant wine, but at least it's nice and sweet."

"The famous blackcurrant wine," Dorothy said, and handed out glasses. Evelyn poured the wine – red so dark it was shading to purple – and said, "Do you fancy anything in particular, Dot?"

Dorothy considered for a minute. "Ellington."

"Right," Evelyn said and went to the Victrola. "My brother's over in New York and he sends me records when he can. This one's our favorite, isn't it, Dot?"

Dorothy nodded. Evelyn put on the record and the room filled with languid piano and saxophone.

Walter took a drink. The sharp currant taste went to his head faster than any lager could. Jack's lips were tinted pink. Dorothy said to Evelyn, "Shall we?"

Walter watched through the dream as Evelyn offered her hand to Dorothy. Dorothy pressed her head against Evelyn's chest and shut her eyes. They swayed together, close, Evelyn's hand at the small of Dorothy's back and Dorothy's arms around her.

"You two can dance together, if you want," Evelyn said, not taking her eyes from Dorothy. "We're not going to mind, are we, Dot?"

"I – " Walter started but didn't know where to go. He was afraid of breaking the spell, of entering in and not being able to stay there due to his own clumsy body.

Jack came and perched at the side of his chair. "He doesn't dance," he said softly, and curled his warm fingers around the nape of Walter's neck. Walter pressed his face into Jack's side, breathing in the clean, strong smell of his body.

Walter would have been happy to stay all night, but Dorothy had to catch the train back to her sister's house and they didn't want to strain the limits of Evelyn's hospitality. Walter was swaying a bit on his feet when they left, so Jack bought them fish and chips and suggested a long walk back to Mrs. Stephenson's.

It was a cool night, and the street was full of people. Men and women walked arm in arm, laughing. The air raid sirens were quiet.

They passed the park as the moon came out. Walter paused from stealing Jack's chips and said, "Should we go in for a minute?"

Jack looked around. "You think anyone will notice?"

"Not in the dark," Walter said. "You only live once, don't you?"

"I suppose that's right," Jack said. "You done with my chips yet?"

They walked through the damp grass. Here and there Walter could see shadows of other people lying on the ground, wrapped up in each other, and he wondered if they were taking a risk as well. But no one seemed to be on patrol and he hoped that they could be safe for just this one night.

There were trees in the corner of the park, looking like a forest in the night air. Walter sat with Jack under the branches, looking up at the moon, and it was easy to think that they were the only two people alive.

He kissed Jack once, and then again, curling his fingers possessively over his cheek, and Jack's breath came in hot puffs against his mouth, holding him so close that Walter could feel both their hearts beating.

He heard a rustle and they broke apart, but it must have been a bird or some other animal, because no one approached. Jack put his head on Walter's shoulder.

"It's been a good night, darlin'."

"Yes," Walter said. "The best night."

They sat for a while longer, and Walter held Jack tightly and pretended that they both didn't know that this might be the last night for them.


End file.
